3*1 Down the hill there was a volley, then a burst of shouting. The second explosion struck, less powerful than the first Before its reverberations had fulfilled themselves, there was the third, still farther off. There'll be one more, Mr. Munn thought, the Alta warehouse, the last one. He clamped his knees and his knuckles tightened on the rein. A single tongue of flame, curved like a whiplash In the fresh wind, towered beyond the roofs at the foot of the slope. The last blast came, and its echoes died off. " A million dollars," a man remarked, loud but prayerfully —" a million dollars, and gone just like that." Now the sky was reddening with the flames, "Gone," another voice rejoined flatly, "like them salts through the widder-woman." Down Jefferson, Mr. Sills' men swung the corner again. Again there was their volley. Then there was silence; and then, from an indeterminate direction, a sound like the sound of a horn, low-pitched, pervasive, penetrating. It came three times. ** They're blowing now," somebody said. "They're gitten ready to go, bio wen on that shotgun ban!" " They'll be coming soon/' Mr. Munn said. " Right up by this corner." " There they come now," a man called," some of 'em." A group of men were turning into Main Street, two blocks down. Just around the corner they stopped, and clustered together on the pavement. Mr. Munn strained his eyes toward them. He could not tell what they were doing. No more men came from around the corner. The group was still clustered there, milling about, Then two figures detached themselves from it. One figure seemed to stagger toward the middle of the street, then it fell The other disappeared around the comer. Some of the men in the group down there were, apparently, entering a building. No one paid any attention to the igurt that lay in the street.